


Touch

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-17
Updated: 2006-07-17
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: There are some things Harry has always known, and others that have taken almost a lifetime to realize.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

**Beta:** [](http://astele.co.uk/)[**the_kams**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=the_kams)

  
**A/N:** This is a birthday fic for [](http://nefyr.livejournal.com/profile)[**nefyr**](http://nefyr.livejournal.com/). I really hope you like it, [](http://nefyr.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nefyr.livejournal.com/)**nefyr**. ♥  


* * *

Harry had always believed he was a fairly tactile person. Not that it was something anyone would have noticed of course; there had never really been that many people that touched him.

Growing up, he knew you were supposed to be hugged and tickled. He knew that being washed in the tub was supposed to be gentle, and leave you splashing and giggling, not biting at your lip and bidding your time to get out. Well, he hadn't known it back then – back then he'd thought that only certain little boys were worthy of that kind of loving touch, and that maybe he just wasn't one of them. Eventually, though, Harry had come to realize that perhaps the problem was with his family, and not with him.

So going to Hogwarts and discovering how easy it was to meet Ron, and unexpectedly have a best friend for the first time, had left him euphoric. Suddenly, there was this fantastically funny kid who wanted to be friends with _him_. There was someone who thought nothing of poking him or hugging him, tackling him to his bed, or tickling him when he started to fall asleep during class. There was finally someone who didn’t resent or fear the idea of touching him, but rather, seemed to get some kind of satisfaction out of it.

Then of course there was Hermione, who thought nothing of hugging Ron, or him (though Harry thinks that maybe it's just because she's a girl; but either way, he's always been grateful for her touch). These new friendships had left Harry with the absolute certainty that things at Hogwarts would be so much different from life on Privet Drive. Different they definitely were, but not in the ways Harry had so hopefully imagined.

In first year people had touched him; patted him, shook his hands, and clapped him on the back, as if they just wanted to be able to say they had met and touched the famous Harry Potter. Harry hated it, knowing people were touching him because of something he couldn't remember, and something he wasn't sure he could be.

Then in second year those touches has stopped, only to be replaced by whispers. People were afraid of him. Once again the touches were based on what people thought of him, not who he was.

By third year the fear had lessened, at least a little anyways. There was jostling in the hallways again and some rough housing in the Gryffindor dorms in the mornings, but it wasn't the same. Harry could still see the hesitancy in their eyes and it saddened him everytime. It drove him crazy at first, knowing there was nothing he could do. After awhile, though, he started to forget anyone else even mattered because through it all, Ron remained a constant. Ron hadn't treated him any different. Ron was still there, would always be there.

Fourth year was one of the worst years for Harry. Everyone had been so sure that Harry had lied and cheated to get his name in the Goblet of Fire. It wasn't whispers like second year – it was all out name calling and hatred. He could have ignored them all, though, because he knew he hadn't done anything wrong; but Ron’s silence was something he just couldn't ignore. The ease with which Ron believed the lies like everyone else had been like an icy knife to Harry's heart. Then just as suddenly, it seemed, people believed him again. Or at least, Gryffindor was willing to support him and the touches started again. The clapping on the back, the encouraging pokes, the ones who would lean over and lay a hand on his arm just to prove they knew Harry. He hadn't really missed those touches. Ron's were different, though; when Ron's started again they meant something. An arm around his shoulder and a nudge under the table, they meant something because it was Ron.

Fifth year had been full of all sorts of things Harry still shudders to remember. He had been so angry and resentful about Ron and Hermione being together without him, about being cut off from everything and everyone. Stuck in Privet Drive to be ignored and avoided had left him to stew in his own misfortune. His aunt and uncle would barely even touch him to pass the dirty dishes. Every day in that house had been torture, and when he'd finally gotten out the emotions had exploded, but they hadn't exactly died down after that. It was a tense year, but Ron's touches hadn't stopped – at least, not until the incident with the snake. Harry had been sick out of his mind, but he would never forget the look of fear on Ron's face, his fear of _Harry_. It had been worse than fourth year. But things had settled a little after that. They hadn't gone quite back to how they were before, but Ron was still his best mate and because of that things seemed about as ok as they could be. But the department of mysteries is something he will never forget either. When he had first seen the scars zigzagging across Ron's arms, he hadn't been repulsed or scared like everyone else, he had just stared at them wanting to reach out and trace each and every one. For the first time Harry could remember, he had wanted to be the one doing the touching, not the one being touched. He can still remember the way his hand slowly crept forward and lightly traced the scars. Ron had just stared at him in disbelief, but neither boy said anything about it afterwards. There was nothing to be said. Though Harry sometimes wondered if Ron's arm tingled from the touch the same way his finger tips had, a prickling sensation that had stayed long after the touch had ended.

During his sixth year, Harry had learned a lot. Things with Ron and Hermione had been odd in a way they'd never really been before. It was confusing and frustrating and everyone around him seemed to be pairing off which made things even more complicated. With everything going on Harry had figured that the last thing he needed was a girlfriend. The entire thing with Cho had left him more than a little wary of girls. Seeing Ron with Lavender, though, and the way Hermione had reacted, had left him feeling decidedly off center. Logically, he knew that at sixteen, having feelings of jealousy when your best mate was in a very physical relationship could be considered normal; but he was pretty sure that when your best mate was a boy you were supposed to be jealous of him, not the girl. Things with Ginny had only left him more confused. That feeling he'd gotten, that gut wrenching feeling when he looked at her, had been overwhelming. They had been good together, too. Ginny was pretty, and funny, and good at Quidditch. At the time, Harry was sure they could have been happy together – until he really thought about it. All the things he'd liked about Ginny had been the ones she had in common with Ron. She was like him in so many ways, except the ones that really mattered. By the end of sixth year Harry knew without a doubt that he had to end things with Ginny, though the reasons why took longer to accept.

In what should have been Harry's seventh year, there was no more time for self reflection or thoughts of what he wanted. There was just strategizing and fighting; running from things he couldn't see or running towards the ones he could. Nights were filled with crashing into the closest cot, most of the time already occupied, but when he was really lucky he got his own – though Harry soon discovered that sharing a cot with Ron was oftentimes better than getting his own. A warm body, and a sense of safety that was never present during the day, far outweighed the discomfort of two fully grown boys squeezing into something barely suitable for one. There were no thoughts about what he wanted, or what any of it might meant, it was just about staying alive.

And now, years later, as he and Ron lay outside under the stars, Harry finally knows it is his touch, Ron's presence, that really matters. This is what it all comes down to. With his head resting on Ron's chest and their arms lightly joined but not clinging, laying together with no fear of losing each other, Harry knows peace. It's what he's always needed, what he wanted before he even knew he could have it.

It isn't just touch that Harry craves, it’s Ron.


End file.
